Senator Snow
by ApertureMan
Summary: A hefty bounty has been placed on Senator Jon Snow's head by an unknown party: hefty enough to garner the attention of the Khalasaar, a group of Mandalorian Bounty Hunters. Daenerys has completed far more dangerous assignments than this one; taking out an unassuming politician wouldn't even get close to the ten most daring endeavors she had taken on in her illustrious career.
1. Chapter 1

Orange, white, blue and purple: the neon lights of Coruscant blurred into a mirage as Barristan masterfully navigated their cramped speeder through the undulating traffic that filled this god forsaken planet. Daenerys found herself wishing she was in uniform like the rest of them: even though she normally hated her helmet, maybe it would've helped her lungs deal with all the smoke that she was taking in with each breath. Across from her, Daario coughed, his rebreather distorting the noise.

"Fuck this place stinks," she could hear the disdain in his voice: Daario was always the one to complain about their assignments first, but on this occasion she actually found herself nodding in agreement.

"Quiet Down," Jorah said, his voice filling the cabin. "We're almost at the drop zone so lets go over this again." He played a holographic projector on the small circular table that listed slightly in the center of the room. A 3D rendering of a handsome young man appeared, its blue edges flickering slightly as the speeder continued to weave in and out of traffic.

"Just because Senator Snow is a diplomat doesn't mean we should take this lightly. He could have weapons in his home and needs to be eliminated with the utmost caution. I will not lose anyone on this assignment." Next to her, Grey Worm stiffened: Missandei of the Naboo, their tactician, had been killed in a firefight with another group of bounty hunters who had also obtained the puck for their target: Greyworm had slaughtered them all. The two of them had been saving their bounties to purchase the Freedom of Greyworm's family from their owners on Tatooine; now, Greyworm seemed to have slightly lost his way. Dany placed a hand on her stoic compatriots knee, and she felt him slightly untense at her touch. "He should be arriving home from a high council meeting around 15:00. You know his routine: he meets his friend Tormund at that slag pit, the Watch, and then retires for the evening. Daenerys will be planted at the bar," he turned to look at her, his cold grey eyes boring into hers, "do what you do best, and once you arrive at his place you finish the job. Daario will be cloaked in the adjacent alleyway, should you need backup." Daario tapped his collapsible shock staff at his hip, and she could tell he was grinning at her from under his helmet. "Greyworm will be on the ledge across the channel ready to pick him off if need be. Barristan and I will monitor your progress from the speeder and collect you individually when we have a confirmed kill. I expect you to have the body ready for transport by the time we touch down." He picked up the projector and stached it in his tool belt, sweeping his eyes across the collected bounty hunters. "Any questions?" He was answered only by the sounds of the Coruscant traffic around them and he nodded tersely, placing his rusted helmet over his bearded face.

"We'll be at the Dropzone in 30 seconds," Barristan's voice came from the front, his calming voice soothing her otherwise jangled nerves. No matter how many years she did this, she always felt as though her stomach were going to empty its contents before every job. Daario placed his hand over hers, squeezing her fingers. She raised her eyes, trying to pick out his face through his T shaped visor to no avail.

"I'll take you out after this is over," he said, a hint of a smile creeping in at the edge of his voice, "I know a couple of good spots from my time stationed here. I could show you a good time."

She knew what he had in mind. "I might let you take me up on that," she smirked back at him, enjoying the way he sat up straighter in his seat at her even entertaining the prospect of having a night out with him again. Daario was the newest member of her team, and though he was a handsome and capable lover, she hadn't felt the want to spend another night in his bed. In truth, she doubted she would ever feel the need to do it again. _But let him wonder_, she thought slightly as Barristan informed her that they had docked, the speeder coming to a complete stop. She stood, smoothing her jacket over the tight fitting outfit that complimented her bountiful curves as she turned to disembark. Jorah stopped her with a hand on her shoulder as she tried to pass.

"Daenerys," he said, his voice even deeper now through his helmet. He paused, seeming as though he wanted to say more, but seemed to decide against it, "Be careful". She snorted but laid a featherlight hand on his dinged pauldron. "This is the way," she said, and the rest of the crew echoed her statement, a reminder of the mandalorian code.

Senator Snow was late. Senator Snow was _never _late. They had studied his patterns and habits from the data gathered by their reconnaissance droid after being tipped off that he could potentially have a high profile bounty placed on his pretty, curly haired head, because that's what made them the best. The Khalasaar was made up of the most skilled and deadly bounty hunters in the Parsec, and the only one that was Mandalorian. Daenerys often thought that she knew her targets better than they knew themselves, though Jon Snow had been particularly difficult to gather information on outside of what he did with his time these days. Before her death, Missandei hadn't been able to find anything about who he had been before his election: he had no previous occupations on any record, public or private, and no listed place of birth. It was because of this that everyone belonging to the Khalasaar was more on edge than any of them probably wanted to admit: this target was irregular.

She scanned the bar again, the strobing neon lights and loud music assaulting her every sense. _Nothing_. But she was Mandalor, and the Mandalore are nothing if not resilient. The stool next to her swiveled, and he slid into the seat. "One Dagobah Dirt bomb for Tormund please," he said with a laugh, "and I'll just take whatever's on tap for tonight." The Twilek waitress smiled seductively at him and busied herself with fulfilling his order as he turned to talk to his Red Headed friend. Daenerys couldn't help but stare: how had he snuck past her? She was sure that she would have seen him: he hadn't even bothered to change out of his Senators garb. However on edge Dany had been before Jon Snow's sudden appearance, she was doubly now. Then, he turned and smiled at her. Daenerys thought it might have been the most beautiful smile she had ever seen.

"What's a beautiful girl like you doing in a place like this?" he asked, sipping at the drink that had just been placed in front of him. She smiled back at him through hazy eyes, letting his rough accent shake her from her stupor. "Waiting for someone," she replied, swirling the straw in her half drunk cup, "You wouldn't happen to know if I could find one Senator Jon Snow around here would you?" His grin faltered and he leaned slightly back in his chair, reaching again for his drink.

"Ah," he said, "are you going to try to convince me to change my mind about my policy regarding act B-18? Because I really don't think we should be allowing the empire to breach our privacy to search for what they are calling the 'next wave of jedi,'" he took a sip from his drink and she saw his friend watching them intently.

"I was actually going to commend you for your stance," she said, leaning in and making sure he got a perfect view down her shirt. Even in this lighting, his face reddened, and she smirked victoriously. "The wave of Jedi paranoia that has been sweeping the whole galaxy is totally overblown. Those traitors are all dead." She sipped her drink as he slowly nodded, ignoring Tormund's scoff.

"Did I say something amusing?" she inquired, directly her gaze to the man sitting to her targets right. Tormund met her stare, his pale blue eyes unwavering. "The jedi weren't traitors," he answered back, shifting in his seat to face her. _Interesting_.

"According to imperial decree, the Jedi would have brought about the end of the universe," she said, glancing at Jon, sure that she was garnering favor with her approach. She had watched multiple tapes of him addressing the senate: he was strictly anti-jedi, with his main focuses often concerning the privacy and safety of the people of Coruscant and the larger Galactic Empire. So when she saw a hint of reproach on his otherwise blank visage, she faltered, her confident demeanor slipping for a millisecond. Senator Snow smiled tightly at her, and he nodded at his friend before finishing his drink and rising from his seat.

"Regardless of your stance or opinions, this is hardly the place to be having this conversation," he placed a generous stack of credits on the bar, the Twilek whisking them away almost the instant they left his fingers. "Have a good evening, my lady." He turned away, Tormund following closely at his heels. It wasn't until the door had closed behind them that Daenerys allowed herself to breathe.

"Fuck."

Under instruction from Jorah, she had tailed them back to his place. It hadn't been easy; Jon Snow seemed to be just as on edge for some reason after their meeting as she was. She constantly had to duck into alleys or shops to avoid being seen as he frequently stopped to look around, Jorah calling out to her the best places to hide as he and Barristan circled their quarry from a distance like a moon, caught in his gravitational pull. She watched as he bade Tormund goodbye at his doorstep, the two of them engaged in an animated conversation that ended with Tormund hurrying off down the channel, the twisting lights casting a dancing pattern across his lumbering figure as he eventually melded with the mass of bodies that filled every Coruscant footpath. She made herself count to thirty before she moved, dancing between oncomers until she reached his door. Pausing a moment to take in her appearance in the window of the shop to her right, the pushed her cleavage out a little more and adjusted her hair. She knew that she appeared desirable, and Jon Snow was just another man. She knocked three times, and leaned against the doorframe in a way that she hoped would appear casual. The door slid open with a hiss, Jon Snow filling the portal. He had taken off his formal outerwear, his muscular built all too apparent through his thin white undershirt.

"Should I be worried that you followed me home?," he said, his eyes flickering down to her chest before meeting hers. Heat pooled in her lower stomach as she boldly leaned forward, pressing her lips to his. In a city so dirty, it shouldn't have been possible for him to smell and _taste_ so clean. He was the first to pull away, a small smile forming on his face. "Why don't you come in," he said, stepping aside for her. She gave him her most sultry smile, swaying her hips as the door closed behind her.

"Have a seat," he said, gesturing to a set of chairs placed on either side of a small rectangular table. "You want a drink?" he inquired, moving to get a glass from his modest kitchen. "Yes please," she answered him, taking the opportunity to cast her eyes around the room. Out the window across the traffic, she knew Grey was waiting, his rifle trained on Jon's every movement. The passing ships cast their lights through the slatted blinds, the pattern banding across the walls. Jon returned, two glasses in hand, and set one in front of her as he settled himself in the chair opposite her. He sat there for an instant, regarding her with that same smile, the edges of his lips barely curling upwards. She waited for him to make the next move: he didn't. He sipped his drink as she swirled the contents of her glass, until he finally spoke, setting his down in front of him. "Turn off your comms."

The blood in Daenerys's veins turned to ice. She stared at him, unsure of what to say next. His smile was gone now and he leaned forward, his voice carrying the whisper of a threat when he spoke again, "turn off your comms." She smiled at him, unable to escape the garbled chuckle that escaped from her throat. They sat there for another moment, the tension between them so palpable that you could cut it with a knife.

She moved first, drawing the tiny blaster stowed away within one of the inner pockets of her coat. Daenerys had always prided herself on being quick; she was the fastest member of the Khalasaar on the draw. So she hadn't been expecting it when Jons hand shot up faster than she could comprehend, his palm open towards her as she flew backwards into his wall, her head slamming into the metal with a sickening thud. The door burst open and Daario barreled through, his staff at its full reach, the ends crackling with electricity. She fought to make out what was happening, though she was sure her mind was playing tricks on her. The Senator moved with the speed and grace of a seasoned warrior, dodging and ducking to avoid her compatriots assault without offering an offense of his own. Her fogged mind realized what Daario was doing, a second before it happened: he was backing Jon up to the window, his exposed back in perfect view for Grey. The bolt shattered the glass of his apartment, though she realized with a shock that he had _dodged it_.

Daario let out a yell of frustration, undoubtedly irritated that his target had been able to avoid his blows so successfully for so long. He brought up his staff to deliver a powerful overhead blow, the end whistling through the air as it descended towards their foe. Maybe it was her mind reeling from the impact, but everything seemed to suddenly be moving in slow motion for Daenerys. The lightsaber flew into Jons hand from down the dark hallway where she assumed his bedroom must be, its blue blade igniting and cleaving Daario's staff in two as he sidestepped the blow with inhuman speed. The Mandalorian staggered forward, the force of his own attack sending him off balance. The lightsaber flashed again, and his helmeted head slid from his shoulders, his lifeless body crashing to the floor. Another blaster bolt rang through the room, Jon narrowly ducking out of its trajectory as he disappeared through the door. Faintly, she could hear Jorah's voice over her earpiece, though she could not make out what he was saying. Her whole body felt numb, and the last thing she heard as she slipped into unconsciousness was the unmistakable hum of a lightsaber cracking over the comms.


	2. Chapter 2

She fell flat on her face, the blunt force of Jorah's sparring sword pressing into her neck. "Too slow again Dany," he grumbled, his voice tight as he extended an arm out to her. Wincing, she reached up and grasped his mechanical hand through his glove, a slight whirring sound emitting through the faded leather as he hauled her back to his feet. "You're too busy looking at the sword," he said, clapping her on the shoulder and gesturing for her to assume her stance again, "watch my eyes. The eyes never lie." Grumbling, Dany sank low into her fighting position, shifting her weight onto her backfoot in anticipation. Without asking if she was ready, Jorah launched himself at her, and they were off. Daenerys knew she was capable; knew that she would be more prepared this time. Back and forth they went, Jorah leveling blow after blow at her head and torso, until finally she saw it. He fainted a strike at her chest before bringing his blade around in a vicious backhanded blow: she was ready. She parried, twisting her sword and locking their blades together at the hilt as she spun, pulling her compatriots weapon from his hand. Panting, she leveled her weapon at his chest, giving him a playful prod between his ribs.

"Too slow," she quipped, and he laughed, the throaty noise filling their ship. Outside, the world was streaked with blue and white as they hurtled through hyperspace. It had been four months since their counter with Jon Snow: four months filled with training and dealing with what had happened. For her, it meant losing Daario: a friend and a team member though crass he may have been. For Jorah, it meant losing his right hand and having to relearn even the most basic hand to hand combat.

_Jorah jumped from the speeder, blaster in hand, firing shot after shot as Jon Snow advanced toward him, each projectile being deflected. The Jedi lunged and his lightsaber flashed, severing the Mandalorians arm at the elbow. Jorah cried out, falling to the ground as Jon stood over him, the blue glow making him look more god than man. The walkway around them was filled with chaos, people running terrified at the appearance of a Jedi. Jon extended his land, lifting Jorah off the ground, and pulled him towards him, catching him by the neck. His grey eyes held nothing but malice. "Don't follow me." A speeder pulled up behind theirs and Jon released Jorah, leaping from the edge of the channel into the passenger seat._

The Mandalorian Code dictates that your soul can only be saved through the act of conquest, and after their defeat at the hands of Jon Snow, they were left with no choice but to pursue their foe across the star system. Jorah and Grey hadn't wanted to wait, and she doubted that she could have convinced them too had their tracking fob not gone offline. Jon Snow had disappeared, and for four months they had waited, training for their next encounter. Then, in the middle of a sleepless night, Daenerys had seen the little circular device start flashing red with location data. _Winterfell_: Jorah's home planet.

It made a lot of sense: Winterfell was a desolate wasteland of ice and snow, its flat landscape dotted with pitfalls that were hundreds of feet deep. The capital city, Winters Town, couldn't have more than fifty thousand inhabitants: quaint by Coruscant's standards. She wondered if Jon was from Winters town too.

The wind bit at her exposed skin as they trudged through the slush covered dirt roads that wound through Winters Town like veins. The fob suggested that Jon Snow was somewhere within the premises of the Capital city: they were going to stay with Jorah's father while waiting for their foe to reveal himself to them.

"This is the place," Jorah said, his voice softened by the wind that buffeted against her. Infront of her stood a giant white house, its exterior glistening as though it were made of ice. She blinked, totally blindsided by Jorah's apparent affluence. She knew that he and his father were not on good terms on the account of the former accepting the way of the Mandalore: Jeor Mormont was, by all accounts, a peaceful man. A golden plaque was inlaid above the great door, an image of a powerful bear etched into its surface. Jorah knocked once, turning to the trio that followed behind him. "My father has no stomach for violence: do not engage him in conversation during the duration of our stay here."

The door swung open, and they were greeted by a girl no older than fifteen. She had a large, grey eyes and shoulder-length mousy brown hair, her brow furrowed in a look of distrust. "Can I help you," she said in an accent that was identical to Jorahs, her eyes flickering over each member of their party. Jorah stepped forward and removed his helmet, smiling down at the young lady. "My name is Jorah Mormont," he said to her as he knelt and extended his good hand, "and who might you be?". She hesitated before accepting Jorah's handshake, her eyes never leaving him.

"I'm Jeyne, your fathers ward."

They dined with Jeor Mormont that night, the six of them gathered around a great table in the center of the feasting hall. Jeyne had disappeared after showing them to Jorah's father, only to reappear when it was time to eat: she did not utter a word throughout the meal. The atmosphere between those gathered was tense and uncomfortable. It was clear that Jeor didn't want them there, only willing to briefly forgo his beliefs on account of helping his son. Jorah, for his part, seemed almost ashamed when interacting with his father, though he only allowed his stoic visage to slip for milliseconds at a time. Dinner passed without event and they lingered at the table as Jeors servants served them a warm, local beverage that was customary on this planet. Dany sipped at it, its sweet, buttery taste dispelling the cold that had seemed to lodge itself in her very core since she had arrived on this planet. It was then that Jeor spoke, breaking the silence that lay over their party like a blanket.

"My son," he began, shifting his weight as he turned to face Jorah, "I know what it is that brings you here. The only reason I allowed you to stay was because I hoped that, under the right circumstances, you might be able to come to an agreement." Dany looked at Jorah, confusion written all over his northern features. Jeor looked to the door at the far end of the room and it slid open with a puff. The gathered mandalorians shot to their feet, reaching for the weapons that they didn't have. Jon Snow stood in the door, arms crossed, his flowing curls pulled back into a tight bun at the bottom of his head.

"What the fuck is he doing here, _Jeor_," Jorah spat venemously, ready to launch himself at Jon Snow. The Jedi took another step through the doorway, the lightsaber at his hip swinging as he did. "Sheltering me and my sister," Jon said as Jeyne crossed to his side, "whilst we rebuild the Jedi Order." Jorah spun on his father, his eyes full of rage, looking for evidence that what Jon said was true.

Jeor nodded his head slowly, meeting his son's hateful gaze. "Its true," the old man said, "I owed Eddard Stark a favor: he saved my life during the seperatist occupation of the planet. Harboring his only living children was the least I could do." He looked now to the rest of the Khalasaar, staring them down in turn. "The purge of the Jedi is all part of an elaborate conspiracy by the order of the Sith: Jon and Arya aren't your enemies."

Greyworm spoke, his thick accent and soft tone making his words almost indiscernible. "You said your name was Jeyne," he mumbled. Arya Stark nodded, her grey eyes wary. "Discretion is a necessity in our situation," she replied in a voice colder than the weather outside.

"I knew Eddard Stark," Barristan said, "he was an honorable man. If what you say is true, then perhaps we ought to consider our pursuit of Jon _Stark _here. Though," he stroked his beard thoughtfully, his blue eyes piercing the Jedi. "It isn't easy to break with the code of the Mandalore. The Guild would want our heads," he added nonchalantly, as though it were naught but an afterthought.

At this, Jon laughed, though his smile never reached his eyes as he looked at Daenerys. "The guild is being puppeteered by a Jedi turncoat named Robert Baratheon: he is the shadow benefactor who placed that ridiculous bounty on my head."

Daenerys's heart felt as though it might implode. Suddenly she was six years old again, sitting quietly in her mothers room in her family's house on Essos.

_A loud explosion echoed around her house, followed by shouting. Her father screamed, and the sound of blasterfire filling her home. Rhaegar and Viserys were yelling now too, but the commotion was cut short by two more shots. Her mother was crying as she put Daenerys in her closet, shushing her and whispering how much she loved her. _

"_I love you too mama," she had said as the door closed. Footsteps crossed the threshold of her parents room, followed by another shot. _

"_Baratheon wants all the bodies," a voice said. _

"_What about the girl," another asked._

"_No puck. I don't feel like spending my time looking around for a kill I'm not gonna get payed for. Grab the bitch and lets go."_

"The Baratheon's killed my family," Daenerys said. The room quieted, all eyes finding her. She stood, striding to Jon. He looked down at her with such intensity that she felt her kees go week. _Now is not the time_, she thought, _I need to be strong_. "Had I known who had issued the bounty, I would not have come after you in the first place." She extended her hand to him and he clasped it in his own. His grip was strong.

Jorah looked back and forth between the two of them, his hostility slowly waning. "Dany," he said, his eyes questioning, "are you sure?" She nodded, a ghost of a smile creeping across her face.

"This is the way."

Jon spent the next four hours retelling the events of the purge from a jedi perspective. He had almost looked like crying when he talked about cutting through his clone battalion: it was clear that he didn't enjoy killing, and the men who had served under him had once been his friends. Arya had been in Winter Town with her father when purge troopers had burst through their front door, killing the Governor and all his children except for her. Her face had been empty and emotionless as she recounted the way her youngest brother cried before the Clone shot him, Jon looking on with concern written all over his handsome face.

"Arya was about to begin a formal padawanship," Jon said, "and I never took one during my time as a Jedi Knight." He drew his sister close to him, looking down at her with such warmth and affection that Dany's heart skipped a beat. "It seemed right that she should be my first." Daenerys was about to reply when she heard commotion down the hallway. Tormund Giantsbane burst into the room, his red mane flecked with snow.

"We've got trouble."

"Ramsey fucking Bolton," Jorah grumbled, adjusting the focus on his binoculars, "and it looks like his whole team is here. I count ten Flayed Men." He handed the optics to Dany and she peered through them as Grey adjusted the distancing on his rifle. The Flayed Men were some of the most brutal and dangerous bounty hunters in the galaxy: they got their name from killing and mutilating people who got in between them and their targets. Even through the snow that was falling thick and fast, Dany could make out Ramsey's sharp features. She cursed, handing the Binoculars back to Jorah.

"We've got to bait them into us," Jon said, meeting Daenerys's eyes. "If I can draw them into the open, can you kill them." She nodded, her mouth forming a grim line. "Aye, then thats what we're going to do." He turned to Jorah, extending his hand.

"Your father has been nothing but kind to me. I'd hate it if I died on bad terms with his son." Jorah looked at his hand before meeting it with his own. "This is the way," the Mandalore said. Jon nodded, sweeping past them and leaping from the balcony into the snow below.

"BOUNTY HUNTER!"

His voice rang out through the town, carried on the wind. She could see Ramsey pointing in the distance, and the Flayed men hurried towards their target.

"Senator!" Ramsey called, his voice mocking as he strode forward, blaster sights set on Jon's unprotected head. "Thank you for making this so easy for us. Fire at will!"

It had been four months since Daenerys had seen Jon Stark fight, and this time took her breath away in the same way that it had then: only now, she wasn't afraid. He lept into the air, landing behind Ramsey and cleaving a man in two.

"NOW!" Jorah shouted and the Khalasaar opened fire, and two more Flayed men fell, unbreathing, into the snow.

"Ambush! Kill them all!" came Ramseys command, his voice shrill as he fired shot after shot at Jon, who spun and reflected them all. Daenerys took aim at a man on a roof who was lining up a shot at Jon, looking for a gap as he continued to dance past the lasers that were being fired at him from all sides. She squeezed the trigger and he topped from his perch, a hole burning in his head. The wind began to pick up, snow obscuring their vision of the proceedings in the street below. "We've got to help him!" She yelled over the gale, and Jorah nodded. Together, the four Mandalorians lept from the roof into the fresh powder below, advancing quickly yet cautiously towards the fight.

Between flurries, Daenerys could make out the red blaster fire and Jon's dancing blue blade, shreds of screams assaulting her ears, torn apart by the howling wind. Suddenly, a man was in her face, a blade pulsing with dark energy rapidly descending towards her face. Dany didn't hesitate: stepping to her right, she leveled her blaster with his head and pulled the trigger. A few feet to her right, Jorah cried out in agony. Ramsey stood, clutching her friend by the shoulder, the hilt of his knife shoved up and under Jorahs cuirass. He twisted the blade, driving it deeper and Jorahs knees buckled, collapsing face first onto the ground as Ramsey withdrew his knife. Barristan lay in the snow a few feet behind Jorah, blood gushing from the gaping wound in his throat.

Dany let out a wail, drawing her blade as she lunged at Ramsey who expertly sidestepped her attack. His blade, smeared with her friends blood, scraped off her pauldron. He stood there, taunting her, his arms spread wide as they circled each other. "The famous Mandalorian Khalasar," he said, making a clicking sound; around them, the storm began to subside. "Not so tough after all." Rage clouding her mind, Dany flung herself at her enemy, jabbing at his neck. Ramsey batted her blow aside, and white hot pain seared through her side as he found a gap between her armor, his knife plunging into her flesh below. She staggered, dropping to her knees, the pain overwhelming her senses. "You'll see your friends soon," he whispered, his eyes full of malice as he pulls his knife free of her chest, blood oozing down her armor.

The killing blow never comes. Instead, Jon Stark's lightsaber cleaves through Ramsey Bolton, his torso nearly torn asunder as the vicious blow bites into his shoulder, stopping at his opposite hip. Ramsey's body falls softly next to her, and the last thing she remembers before the darkness consumes her is a strong pair of arms lifting her out of the snow.

"I've got you," he says, "I've got you."

When she awakes, the first thing she sees is the blue and white streaks of stars and solar systems passing her by as she hurtle through hyperspace. Shakely, she gets to her feet, the medical droid greeting her as she passes through the door into a larger room. Sitting around a circular table is Arya and Greyworm, both of them intently focused on the game in front of them. One of the holographic creatures picks up another and bites it in half; Greyworm curses while Arya smirks.

"You're awake," a voice says behind her. She spins, the motion almost enough to make her fall. Strong arms steady her, but even when she finds her balance, Jon doesn't release her. She smiles shakily up at him.

"Where are we going?" She hates how wobbly her voice is. Jon ushers her into a seat next to Arya and Greyworm sits next to her, his game forgotten. Jon smiles as he speaks, "Yavin-4. Tormund got news threw the back channels that there could be rebel hideout there. Could be nothing, " he shrugged, "but I'll take my chances. You've been asleep for almost two days." Greyworm placed a hand on top of one of hers, and she squeezed it.

"Barristan and Jorah?" She knew the answer before she asked the question. Jon shook his head. "I'm so sorry, Daenerys." She nodded, her heart aching for her friends as her vision began to blur.

"Easy now," Jon said, laughing. He helped her to her feet and walked her towards the back of the ship to her quarters. The moment her head hits the pillow, she was asleep.

She wakes while the rest of the passengers sleep, and her restlessness takes her from her bed. She arrives at a door that she just _feels _is Jons and knocks. When he opens it, they stand there for a moment, drinking in each others presence before he stands aside. She moves past him and the door hisses shut as he kisses her.

Hours pass, and they lay together tangled in Jon's sheets when something strikes Dany.

"Aren't the Jedi supposed to be celibate?" she asks him, her violet eyes meeting his warm grey ones. He nods slowly, as if remembering that fact himself. "Aye," he said, his voice soft, "but after the purge I've been wanting to be more than just a Jedi." He leans down into her, his mouth inches away from hers. "I just want to live, at least for tonight."

She kisses him.


End file.
